Letter to Hermione's Parents
by elisa-didlittle
Summary: 4 months of Hogwarts and Harry's had enough. Now he just has to convince her parents
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of whoever offically owns it. Not me.

Edited to remove some of the wretched excess. Thanks SomeGuyFawkes.

* * *

It was Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts, and as the Christmas holiday loomed ever closer he found himself torn.

For an abused little boy who barely survived the starvation and beatings of the previous ten years, getting to leave the horrible Dursleys and their wretched little village should have been a godsend. Ten whole months away from Vernon's belt and Petunia's skillet and Dudley's fist. Real food instead of whatever scraps he could steal. Real clothes instead of rags. Bed and bath instead of old newspaper and the garden spigot. It all sounded like a dream come true.

But Hogwarts had turned out to be a bit worse than advertised. Psycho potions teacher. Incompetent and negligent staff. Rabid and accepted bigotry. Harry had only been at the castle for three months and already survived four attempts on his life: the troll, the broom, the forest and the cerberus. That plus the fact that a full quarter of the school seemed to hate his guts before he even met them.

But Christmas was coming. A time of love and giving. Well, maybe for others. The only thing Harry ever got for Christmas was pain, and love was certainly never in the air. And so Harry had decided that this Christmas Harry would give himself a present. This Christmas Harry would grab all the gold in his vault and escape all his problems, and try to make a life for himself that didn't include beatings or trolls.

But that still left his newly acquired kind-of best friend Hermione. Harry only needed one day to realize that there was a significant difference between a smart girl and a savvy girl, and Hermione was definitely a smart girl. Unlike himself, Hermone couldn't see the writing that was clearly written on the wall: the wizards just didn't want her. Well, if Hermione was going to stick her head in the sand and ignore the truth, it would be his last act of friendship to help her see.

Hermione sat at the kitchen table having breakfast with her parents, thinking. Harry had been weird the past week. Anxious, as if he was psyching himself up for another Quidditch game. And he wasn't playing with Hedwig. In fact, she hadn't seen Hedwig the entire week.

Harry had put his name down to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas hols. He said both he and his relatives would have a better Christmas if he stayed away. Hermione felt bad that she left him to celebrate Christmas alone with Ron Weasley of all people, but she missed her family too. And it really was nice to have light bulbs, television, central heating and the public library again, even if she did have to leave her beloved magical castle. At the moment Nat King Cole was crooning something Christmassy in the background, and her parents were discussing the Nativity play at St. Basil's.

And then there was that bizarre moment as she got off the Express at King's Cross. Some Hufflepuff girl, complete stranger, with long blonde hair in her face, pimples and green eyes like Harry's came up to her. Gave her a hug, and said she would miss her. Weird.

Suddenly, a tapping sound came from the window. Hermione looked and saw a unfamiliar owl sitting on the sill looking annoyed. Hermione had learned to read owl facial expressions, quite necesary when your best friend has an owl as a confidant. She let the cold bird in, removed the wrapped gift and Christmas card, gave the owl some bacon and let it rest on the back of one of the chairs.

Hermione's mum looked up. "From one of your friends, dear?" she asked.

"No, mum. Never saw this owl before in my life." The owl had delivered two letters and a small package. "I wonder who sent it all," Hermione asked as she looked over the post. "Oh, look! A present for me! And someone sent you a card, too!"

"Oh that's nice. And it's addressed to both Dan and me. How thoughtful. We'll just read it while you open your gift," her mother said.

Hermione opened her package to see a compact disc of the _Xanadu_ soundtrack. That was odd. Not like a wizard to know anything about muggles movies, or to know how she and her mum adored that movie, and Olivia Newton-John. And there was a letter.

She was about to open her letter when she looked up to see her mum crying and her dad going quite red in the face. Whatever they were reading couldn't be good. Was this package from a professor? Maybe she abused a semicolon in one of her extra credit essays? Or maybe a midterm report card she did poorly on? Oh dear.

Emma couldn't believe what she was reading:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,_

_My name is Harry Potter, and I believe I may be the first friend Hermione ever had. To hear her talk, anyway. I know what it's like to never have any friends. Every time I tried to make friends in grade school, my bully of a cousin would beat them up and make sure they knew that only losers made friends with me and if they wanted to be my friend they should get used to his fist._

_Hermione's a very nice girl, and seems to have lived a very nice life, where adults are always kind and wise and respectable. That's a nice idea in theory but we both know the real world isn't like that at all. There are very nasty adults in the world, and not all of them look like drug addicts and pimps. Some of the very nastiest adults look just like lawyers and school teachers and businessmen. Because they are lawyers and school teachers and businessmen. Successful people can be monsters under their suits. And school teachers and headmasters can be the very worst sort of people under their indulgent smiles._

_I had a very abusive childhood. I never told Hermione because she could never relate. Hermione is a smart driven girl who thinks the world revolves around extra credit essays, top grades and being the teacher's pet. I spent ten years locked in a cupboard, only allowed out to do chores and get beaten. I stole food from the neighbor's bins because nobody would feed me. Same well dressed people who went to charity balls to raise money for starving kids in Africa but couldn't care less about the starving kid down the street. They would spit on me and my ill-fitting rags and cross the street when they saw me out scavenging for food. But they never tossed me a quid or gave me some food or got me some proper clothes._

_I learned to hate all adults. Adults spat at me, yelled at me, beat and starved me to within an inch of my life. They called me an evil no-good deviant. I was five years old, how much of deviant could I have possibly been? Worse thing I probably did was burn the toast or make the eggs too runny. I was five years old and blind as a bat before I found a pair of specs in the bin. What were they expecting, Julia Child?_

_I thought my world turned around when I found out about Hogwarts. Not about magic, I didn't care too much about that. Magic didn't fill your belly or keep you warm in winter. But Hogwarts was a boarding school. That meant meals and uniforms and a bed._

_But man does not live by bread alone. Don't know about women. I tried to ask the vicar once but he screamed at me to get my evil no-good deviant self out of his church. I used to think Jesus was one of the bastard adults I hated so much, but then I read an old bible I found laying about. Turned out Jesus was just like me, beaten and starved. He just has bastard adults talking about him and Heaven and sin as if they knew what those were. As if they knew anything at all. A lot of very proper church people are going to be very surprised when they don't get to see Heaven._

_Hogwarts is a mixed bag for me. It did provide food and a bed and clothes. Things I never had. Things I had always dreamed of. But Hogwarts also provided hate. And danger. And Death._

_Hermione once told me that Professor McGonagall hand delivered her Hogwarts letter to your family. Hermione's quite fond of her for some reason. I don't know what sort of impression she made on you. I can tell you that I personally hate her guts. She, Dumbledore and their huntsman Hagrid personally dumped me on the Dursley's doorstep when I was one year old. Literally left me on the front stoop like a bottle of milk. From what I can gather from Petunia's ranting, she woke up to get the paper, stepped on me and broke my arm, grabbed the paper and left me there. I had just spent the whole rainy night of 2 Nov 1991 out doors where any stray cat or dog could have bitten or scratched me. And my bitch of an Aunt steps on a baby and leaves me there. She reckoned if she didn't acknowledge the baby then someone else would deal with it. So I stayed on the stoop for four days, in the rain and November chill, and Bonfire Night on the 5th with the firecrackers and the screaming. All the while my arm getting worse and worse. Eventually Petunia had to take me in because the neighbors had started to notice the smell of my soiled diaper. I never did get my arm fixed. The Hogwarts nurse noticed it while fixing a Quidditch injury and yelled at me for not getting my arm properly healed by an acredited wizard Healer when I was 15 months old. That was when I realized that wizards where not only nasty bastards but really stupid nasty bastards as well._

_The Headmaster of the British wizard school and his Deputy Head left a wizard baby on an unknown muggle doorstep and just left. They never checked up on me. They never informed the Wizard Orphan's Office or Crown Child Services. Never took me to a Healer or doctor despite the fact that I had just survived the unsurvivable Killing Curse and had a house collapse on top of me, following the terrorist attack on my family. To the best of my knowledge, no hospitals or government agencies have any records on me whatsoever._

_That's why I hate adults, and why I hate Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid._

_As I'm telling Hermione in her own letter, I decided to flee both the Dursleys and the wizards. Sending this package was the last thing I did in Britain. By the time you read this letter I'll be long gone._

_My remaining problem is Hermione. Hermione is a very trusting kid. I am not. I look into my professors' faces and see evil child-hating bastard adults. Hermione sees kind caring teachers to revere. In the last three months I have survived four attempts on my life. Two of those were direct attempts by a professor to kill me. The other two were deadly situations created by professors, which Hermione and I barely survived._

_**1st Deadly Situation: The Broom**_

_When McGonagall learned that I'm good at flying a broom, she put me on the Quidditch team. Quidditch is a dangerous game. It's like polo played 300 feet in the air at 100 miles per hour, while the opposing team is allowed to drop iron cannon balls on you. The minimum age to play is 12-13 years old though most of the players are actually 16-17 year olds._

_McGonagall didn't ask me if I wanted to play, she just put an untrained 11 year old kid on the team playing the game's most dangerous position because Gryffindor hadn't won a game in years and she was tired of Snape rubbing her nose in it._

_So there I am, first game of the season, 400 feet in the air cause I'm a seeker and seekers fly higher than the other players, when my broom goes all wonky and starts to shake me off like an angry bull. No one's paying any attention to me, despite the fact that I'm the most famous wizard in Europe and the youngest Hogwarts Quidditch player in 100 years and holding on to the bucking broom with one hand and 400 feet from a messy death._

_Hermione, who alone among the 1000 spectators somehow *does* notice that I'm seconds from death, looks through her binoculars to see who's cursing my broom. She sees Professor Snape staring at me, unblinking, muttering continuously. She decides to save my life, sneaks under the bleachers, runs over to Snape and sets him and whole VIP box on fire._

_Now I didn't notice any of this, you understand. I'm still hanging onto my broom with one hand while it jerks and shakes and continues to rise, now at 500 feet above my messy death._

_Hermione says my broom stopped shaking the moment she set Snape on fire. I get back on the broom, descend to 400 feet, somehow see the 1 inch flying walnut 100 feet beneath me and 200 feet away. I go into a quick dive, avoid the other players doing their "polo" type formations. I'm 25 feet above the ground when I'm hit by one of those iron cannon balls in the arm, breaking it in two places. I fall off my broom and the snitch flies in my mouth while I'm screaming in pain._

_End result: I'm lying on my back on the hard ground after falling 25 feet, my right arm in a very unnatural position and some of the bone is peeking out, and trying not to choke on the snitch that's in my mouth. I spit the snitch into my left hand and hold it up. Hooch blows her whistle and announces I've won the game. Snape lodges a complaint for cheating, since I didn't catch the snitch in my hand. The Gryffindors are ecstatic over their first win in years. Only Hermione notices me bleeding and screaming in pain and levitates me to the hospital wing, where the nurse yelled at me for getting my arm broken in two places and having to heal a compound fracture._

_Which I suppose is better than yelling at my corpse for falling off my broom at 500 feet and making her repair a collapsed rib cage or cracked skull._

_**2nd Deadly Situation: The Troll**_

_The next attempt on my life happened on Halloween and involved Hermione. Hermione did well in class and her assigned partner did badly. She tried to help him, but Ron is a poor idiot with inferiority issues. It ended very badly with Ron loudly telling everyone what a annoying friendless know-it-all Hermione was, as a way to save face before his peers. Hermione fled in tears and spent the next seven hours crying in the loo._

_It turns out that Halloween was the wrong day to spend crying in the loo, because someone let a mountain troll into the castle. The staff told those of us at dinner, but didn't bother to announce it throughout the school. When I realized that Hermione was in the loo and didn't know about the troll, I ran to find her before the troll did. In that I was successful, as I found her 30 seconds before the troll found the both of us._

_I never saw a mountain troll before and I hope I never see one again. It's a 14 foot man-eating sasquatch that smells like raw sewage, and it carried an enormous wooden club. I'm used to being attacked by grown men, but Hermione isn't. She was frozen in fear. Literally frozen stiff. I kept trying to pull her out of the loo but she wouldn't budge. The troll swung its club through the toilet stalls, smashing them to bits and peppering us with shards of wood and porcelain. Since I couldn't get Hermione to move, I ran at the troll, climbed it and stabbed my wand up its nose, but all that did is get it mad enough to grab me by my leg and try to smash me with its club. Apparently that woke Hermione up because she levitated the club out of it's hand and dropped it on his head, missing my head by inches but knocking the troll out. Ron, who started the whole mess, then walks in loudly proclaiming how he saved us all with a levitation charm he didn't know how to cast and still can't perform even today._

_After Ron walks in claiming we owe him our lives (as if), four professors come running in: Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape and Quirrell. They look around, see the unconscious troll, the destroyed bathroom, the two soaked students covered in grime, flesh wounds and blood. Then Snape screams about how Potter and the Know-It-All clearly caused the mess and deserve to be punished before being expelled. McGonagall punishes me by deducting 30 house points, I can only deduce, for saving a muggle-born. That or she believes I went into a rage and single-handedly destroyed the whole bathroom while the innocent 14 foot man-eating sasquatch looked on in disapproval. Dumbledore smiled an enigmatic smile. Quirrell fainted again._

_After being punished for saving each other from a wild beast that roamed the castle while the staff did nothing, we were ordered back to our dorms. When I suggested we go to see the nurse I was punished again for speaking out of turn. Finally I just carried Hermione to the hospital wing (because she kept insisting on returning to the dorms as ordered). As the nurse cleaned and stitched our wounds closed, and gave us an antidote to the apparently fatal venom trolls can sometimes secrete, she yelled at us for getting injured by a troll and not calling for medical assistance._

_**3rd Deadly Situation: The Cerberus**_

_On the first day of school, at the opening feast shortly after our sorting, Dumbledore told all the students to avoid the 3rd floor corridor if we did not wish to die a most painful death. Knowing what I know now, I would add that we should also avoid the castle, the grounds, the Quidditch pitch and possibly all of Scotland as well. You never know with those Highlanders._

_Somehow on the train ride up to school, I got caught between two households, both un-alike in dignity. A poor boy in hand-me-down clothes named Ron and a rich Lord's son named Draco, both vying to be my "best friend" while disparaging the other. Of course, because I'm an abused and hated child, I align myself with the stupid poor boy rather than the stupid rich boy._

_In truth, both boys were stupid bullies and I should have avoided the pair of them in favor of Hermione. And things might have gone better had someone bothered to tell me that I was a rich Lord's son too, as well as being the most famous wizard in Europe. It also would have been nice had someone told me that both boys' families had been fighting a blood feud for centuries over a broken betrothal or a stolen pig or a rusted sword or something impossibly ancient and stupid._

_Instead, a month later the rich idiot challenges me to a wizard duel. And even though only adult wizards are allowed to fight wizard duels, the poor idiot accepts the challenge on my behalf. Neither the poor idiot nor I know any magic, nor do I suspect does the rich idiot. But the rich idiot does know how to schedule the duel after curfew where the caretaker will be able to hear us. And he does know how to tell the caretaker that we plan to damage school property._

_And though I tried to ignore the stupid duel, since I neither issued nor accepted the challenge, the House of Bravery wouldn't allow me to decline the fight. Even though 11 year olds aren't allowed to fight duels and we don't know any magic yet. Poor idiot is dragging me to the trophy room telling me all about spells he doesn't know anything about. Hermione is bitterly lamenting how I'm going to lose her every house point she's ever earned writing extra credit essays. (** Note to Hermione: Next time, just teach me some spells from your extra credit essays)_

_So midnight comes, and instead of the rich idiot the caretaker comes running, yelling about how he's going to chain us to the wall by our thumbs. So the bunch of us run away to avoid being chained to the wall by our thumbs. And run smack into the forbidden 3rd floor corridor, and a giant three headed dog. One of Hagrid's pets. Thing's bigger than a stone cottage and looking at us like we're steak. We somehow manage to escape mostly unharmed. Well, I might have pushed the poor idiot to the front of the group while the rest of us escaped. Anyway, poor idiot has a ripped pair of trousers and doggie drool running down his legs. I swear the cerberus smirked._

_**4th Deadly Situation: The Forest**_

_Hagrid, the bastard huntsman who's not-so-mythical cerberus almost swallowed us whole, decided to raise a dragon for fun and profit. Hermione made a big stink about how he should get rid of it before it burned down his wooden hut. Any bastard who would leave a baby alone for four days in November deserves to have his house burned down as well as getting eaten, along with the other bastard professors. Unfortunately, Hermione managed to convince the poor idiot to write his brother, the poor dragon tamer, to help move the dragon to a nature preserve. It seems raising dragons without a license has been illegal ever since the Great Fire of London in 1666, despite intermittent pleas by gentleman dragon breeders to raise their pets at home._

_Though we were able to send the dragon off on its long trek home, McGonagall caught us, and sentenced us to catching some monster in the Forbidden Forest that was killing unicorns. Though students aren't allowed in the forest because of the danger, McG certainly had no problems sending three 11 year olds into a forest infested with werewolves, giant spiders, unicorn-killing monsters and belligerent centaurs, on a full moon at night. That none of us knew any magic and so couldn't protect ourselves, and that we were being supervised by Hagrid, a Hogwarts dropout who also didn't know any magic, didn't seem to dissuade her. That I was almost eaten by a Nazgul and subsequently almost executed by a tribe of centaurs for tresspassing on their lands didn't seem to interest her either. Of course, back when I was a baby she couldn't be bothered getting me medical attention after a house fell on me. That was before leaving me on a doorstep for 4 days in November._

_Anyway, I quit. I'm out of here. Despite the brochure, Hogwarts isn't the greatest school of magic in the world with the greatest headmaster. Hogwarts is a house of horror run by psycho professors. But Hermione being who she is, will insist on staying in that murder house so she can rack up more house points from her extra credit essays. There is no doubt in my mind that Hermione will successfully earn more house points through more extra credit essays than any other student. There is also no doubt in my mind that Hermione would not survive to return home in June._

_It is quite clear that the staff wants her dead almost as much as they want me dead. Or at least they are so indifferent to her health and well-being that they punished me for saving her life, punished me for trying to get her medical attention, punished us for surviving._

_My fondest Christmas wish is for you all to visit Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley today. I've left 1000 galleons and instructions for a goblin solicitor to advise Hermione on her options. About alternative magical schools. Daily after-school magical tutoring. Weekend magical tutoring if Hermione goes to a muggle boarding school. Or my personal favorite option of fleeing the UK and the bigotry of their wizarding community._

_No matter what McGonagall told you about careers in the wizard world, the fact is Hermione will never get a well-paying or prestigious job in the wizarding community. No matter how smart, how determined or how talented, the vast majority of British wizards would consider Hermione a filthy uppity mudblood. Good enough to fetch their coffee or clean their homes... maybe._

_The truth is magic is just a talent and a skill set, like piano, mathematics or ballet. It can provide a livelihood as well as convenience and enjoyment in her life. But it shouldn't define her, consume her, restrict her or murder her. Yes Hermione could choose to become a Potions Mistress or a Curse Breaker, but there's no reason why she couldn't be a concert pianist, or a brain surgeon, or an astronaut. Being capable of turning a beetle into a button shouldn't keep her from being whatever she wants to be._

_But the first step is to escape the fairy tale castle where professors try to kill their students._

_Happy Christmas,  
Harry Potter_

_PS: I've included 12 Memographs taken from my memories of the above events. They've been authenticated and notarised by the Ministry and are admissible in any magical jusrisdiction worldwide. Just in case any school or government official disputes your claims._

While Emma was still crying, Dan looked through the envelope and found some other pages. These weren't letters however but 8x10 enlarged magical photographs, with the images animated like a looped video clip. Each photo was annotated, for example "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Troll; 3rd Flr. Bathroom, Hogwarts; 31 Oct 1991" and was stamped:

**Authenticated Memory Photograph  
UK Ministry of Magic, Records Division  
Source: **HJ Potter, 19 Dec 1991**  
Authenticated: **CS Flint, 19 Dec 1991**  
Subscribed and Sworn: **RJ Bell, MLegil, 19 Dec 1991**  
Copies Furnished Upon Request**

and bore the embossed seal of the UK Ministry of Magic. Dan couldn't help smirking at the proud roaring British lion wearing a crown and waving a wand, surrounded by fleur de lis.

Dan thumbed through each of the 12 photographs. Each of the events in the letter were shown:

* An enormous snarling three headed wolf snapping at five very small children, at one point Dan swore he could see straight down one of the wolf's throats.

* A terrified Harry all alone in some evil looking forest being attacked by what truly looked like a Nazgul out of Tolkien.

* Another of the same Nazgul lapping blood from the neck of a dead unicorn.

* A battered Harry being held at spear-point by a group of very large and angry centaurs.

* A desperate Harry in a team uniform barely holding on while being jerked all over the place by a psychotic broom.

* A sallow hooknosed man moving his lips and not blinking, and then being engulfed in flames. Dan thought he could just make out Hermione's face in the shadows under the bleachers.

* A distraught Hermione being screamed at by some furious red-haired child and bursting into tears.

The troll incident was by far the most terrifying. Nothing quite brought Harry's narrative to life like a 8x10 glossy of his little Hermione huddled on the floor in a ball while a nightmare monster 4 times her size smashed his club through the sinks and toilet stalls, destroying everything and showering Hermione and Harry in debris. There were several of this incident:

* Harry trying to drag a petrified Hermione away.

* Harry standing guard over a curled up Hermione.

* Harry trying to attack and climb a troll 4 times his height.

* Harry being held upside-down by the leg and being shaken by an angry troll

* Harry about to be bashed by a troll club when the club suddenly floats up and then comes crashing down on the troll's head. Dan noted that the club did come within 2 inches of Harry's own head. Dan also noted that Harry performed some sort of gymnastic mid-air flip to avoid being crushed underneath the collapsing troll.

Dan arranged the photos on the table. Emma could only shake and cry louder as she saw graphic evidence of what Harry had written about in his letter.

Finally when it seemed she could cry no more, Emma folded up the letter and wiped her tears. She had already made her decision even before she glanced at her husband to hold a silent conversation. A quick quirk of her eyebrows was enough to get Dan's agreement.

If Harry was kind enough to provide them with an exit strategy to escape the incompetence and cruelty of the Wizards before he fled, the Grangers could certainly sit down with a goblin and chart their future.

"Hermione, get dressed. Harry left you a Christmas present at Gringotts and we have to pick it up today." Emma said.

"But... But... He already gave me this," Hermione sputtered holding up her CD.

"Oh, what's that?" Emma asked. Dan was still too furious to speak.

"_Xanadu._ How did he know?"

"I'm pretty sure he didn't. Maybe he just liked the movie. Maybe the songs spoke to him. Or maybe he's trying to tell you something." Emma said

Hermione looked confused. "Tell me what?"

Emma just smiled sadly. "It's probably in your letter."

_Dear Hermione,_

_You're a dear sweet girl, and the smartest person I've ever met. But you don't have the sense God gave a goose._

_If McGonagall come into my house and turned my clean and sanitary coffee table into a filthy pig I'd throw the bitch out into the street. Dear Lord, did you actually eat off that table again?_

_As I've told your parents, I truly hate McG. Spit in her face hate. Break her arms hate. Bash her head in with a cricket bat and feed her carcass to Norbert hate._

_Of course I also hate Hagrid, Dumbledore and Snape. Jury's out on Flitwick. He's never done anything to me personally, but I've heard he orders hazing and bullying of Ravenclaw firsties by the older 'Claws to keep them in line._

_I'm very fond of you, Hermione. And as I told you at King's Cross, I will truly miss you. But there's a limit to how much pain a soul can take, and my VISA card's all maxxed out. That all the pain I've experienced can be traced directly to Dumbledore, McG, Hagrid and Snape is a terrifying thought. That they expected me to continue taking it is just insane._

_Talk to Bloodfist about your options. You shouldn't have to give up Oxford or Harvard or Ecole de Beaux-Arts just to wave a wand. Of course, personally I think you should leave Britain. It's a cold gloomy country filled with cold gloomy people. I'd like to run into you sometime in the future. Of course I'd look completely different. But I'm sure a smart girl like you can cope._

_I think all those story books you read as a kid did a number on you, prepped your mind to embrace witches and castles and dragons. And I think a girl can get Stockholm Syndrome even in Scotland._

_But mostly I worry that the castle will find a way to kill you. Whether by an angry student or an uncaring teacher or another bloodthirsty monster._

_You're a very lucky girl to be alive. But no luck lasts forever. It's time for Snow White to leave her castle._

_All my love,  
Harry_

_PS: Got to believe we are magic_

* * *

A/N: _Letter to Hermione_ is a maudlin whine-fest from David Bowie's first album. Hermione was Bowie's girlfriend who dumped him before he got famous for a slightly more successful rock musician that no one remembers today. Though many people insist _Letter_ is a classic rock love song, to me it's an embarrassing sack of shit. _Space Oddity _is much cooler. Of course, so is _Rocket Man._


	2. Chapter 2

It took the Grangers the better part of ten minutes to get bundled up and take the Tube to Whitehall, just a short stroll from Charing Cross. Throughout their short trip, the smells of fruitcake and gingerbread joined with the joyful singing of passing Carol singers to mark the season's festivities. Hermione could close her eyes and imagine she was standing in a Currier and Ives print, winter snow soft beneath her boots and the bells of St Mary's ringing in the distance.

All of that came to a screeching halt the moment they entered the Leaky Cauldron. No spiced cookies or hot mulled cider here. The filthy wizard inn stank of stale beer and moldy tobacco. Hermione and her parents linked up in a human chain, and dove into and through the Leaky as fast as she could. Hermione had tapped the bricks and opened their way into the Alley before the innkeeper could even open his mouth and horrify the two dentists with the state of the teeth he no longer had.

As the family walked down the Alley towards the white marble bank, Hermione gave her parents a crash course in Goblin culture that she learned from Harry.

"Mum, Dad, according to Harry, bow to the goblins and don't show your teeth." she whispered.

"Don't show our _teeth_?" asked Dan incredulously. He was a dentist for Christ's sake.

"Apparently they see it as an act of aggression, like a pitbull. Daddy's the male, so he talks to the goblin and we stay quiet, unless they ask us something. Oh, and no idle chit-chat - they believe in _Time is Money,_ " recited Hermione in her _knowledgeable _voice.

"Don't smile, don't be friendly, bow, and women are silent. Got it," Emma summed up grumpily.

"Women and children, actually. It's not that we're denied rights, it's just that they don't want to have to deal with family disagreements. So they force us to speak with one voice through a family ambassador who speaks for all of us. Though if Daddy wants information or advice from the rest of us, he asks us directly. That way, most family disagreements are dealt with at home and not in the bank. More of their _Time is Money _philosophy."

"And they think _Daniel _is our leader?" Emma huffed in derision.

"Well, they had to pick _someone_ . Of course the idiot wizards completely misinterpreted this and assumed they were somehow better than the rest of their family, so they started putting on airs and calling themselves _Lords_. You can see it at Hogwarts the way their sons strut around like God's gift. It's one of the reasons goblins look down on us."

"It just seems so medieval," Emma objected.

"It _is _so medieval. Gringotts is almost 2000 years old and has branches in all the Roman Imperial cities. Besides, you're treating them as if they're human, and they're not. Just think of goblins as short greedy Klingons."

"Klingons?" Emma snorted. "I take it back, Dan, you'll be perfect as ambassador. Just don't sell the cow for some beans, OK?" Maybe it was a good idea after all to let Dan deal with them. He was the big Star Trek nerd.

"Yeah. According to Harry they have claws, fangs and green skin."

"Cool, Klingons!" Dan grinned and made a Klingon salute. "Jegh A Hegh!"

"So help me Daddy, if I end up in a history book because you started a Goblin War, I will be severely annoyed. Why can't you be like all the other middle-aged Daddies and just flirt with waitresses," Hermione huffed. Emma was giving Dan the long-suffering huff that normally precedes him sleeping on the sofa, so Dan figured he should probably just behave. He certainly didn't want to test out the comfort features of the new Chesterfield.

The three climbed up the marble steps, gave a brief bow to the doormen, who looked just like short greedy Klingons dressed as Swiss Guards - complete with halberds, and entered the bank. After the usual purposeless wait, they were shown in to Barchoke's office.

The Grangers looked around at the fairly normal office with Barchoke seated behind his oak desk. Barchoke was a goblin, which pretty much said it all, as all goblins looked the same. Emma realised that sounded a fair bit racist, but of the hundred odd goblins running about the lobby she couldn't tell any of them apart. She idly wondered if the girl goblins had to read their Gringott's nametags to know who to take home and screw. And make even more identical goblins.

Remembering their training in Goblin culture, based upon the say-so of an 11 year old boy, the three Grangers bowed, kept their mouths firmly closed, and sat in the chairs provided. Dan, as the grudgingly accepted man of the family, dropped into his Klingon ambassador role and opened the talks.

"Greetings, Barchoke. I am Daniel Granger and I speak for the Granger family. This is my wife Emma, and my daughter Hermione. Hermione is a Hogwarts student. What are her options if she wishes to withdraw?" Dan asked in a matter of fact tone, avoiding all pleasantries. In any other culture, this was the height of rude. He very much hoped Harry actually knew something about goblins.

Barchoke schooled his reactions perfectly but was rather surprised. This Daniel Granger was humble, direct and efficient. Surprising indeed.

"Greetings, Mr Granger. You must be Harry Potter's friend?"

The Grangers gave a worried nod.

"It shows. Mr Potter is one of the few wizards who bothered asking us about goblin manners. Hundreds of humans enter this bank every day. Your family were the only ones to act correctly."

The Grangers were pleased, but they made doubly sure that their mouths stayed closed. Being happy and not smiling was more difficult than seemed possible.

"Despite what the Hogwart's staff or the Ministry say, you do not need to enroll your daughter at Hogwarts or any other school. She does not even need to study magic at all. The law only enforces the Statute of Secrecy. As long as you maintain secrecy, you can do as you please."

"McGonagall mentioned the accidental magic of untrained witches causing death and destruction," Dan said.

Barchoke snorted. "Another lie. Accidental magic is wish magic, and generally appears between the ages of 4 and 10 years old. It replaces the tantrums and begging of muggle children when denied something they want. By the age of 10, most witches are able to ask for what they want and accept what they can not have," Barchoke explained. Then he posed a question. "Has Hermione's accidental magic ever posed a problem for you?"

"No. Mostly she just summoned books or cookies. Never in front of strangers. And it pretty much stopped happening by the time she was 8 or so," Dan recalled. Emma was nodding her agreement.

"Exactly," Barchoke continued. "It's a non-issue. As you can see, it's all just a way to scare you into enrolling your child at Hogwarts."

"Why do they want us to enroll her so badly?"

"Money, Politics, and Control. Considering that Hogwarts uses unpaid magical servants to provide room, board, housekeeping and care, they have very little expense and overhead for housing Hermione. Since all clothing and educational materials are purchased by the students, the only real costs are teaching salaries, which are actually covered by the Hogwarts Endowment Trust. All the tuition you have been paying actually goes into the Ministry's treasury. Ministry officials laughingly call it the Muggle Tax."

The Grangers all frowned at that. "Do purebloods also pay some form of tuition?" Dan asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course not. It's a _Muggle _Tax, after all," Barchoke sneered.

"I see," Dan said with a sour look on his face. "You mentioned Politics and Control?"

"Well, Control is easier to explain. By making you believe that a Hogwarts education is essential for Hermione's health and well being, they hold her behavior, and yours, hostage. Should she or you act in any way contrary to the desires of the Ministry or Hogwarts staff, they dangle her expulsion and all the supposed dangers that come with it. Dumbledore or McGonagall then explain that your actions are contrary to accepted behavior or wizarding traditions, and if you wish to continue attending you will need to change that behavior. And they will remind you of the 'great dangers' of accidental magic. As Hermione gets older, that argument would shift to qualifications and employment in the wizarding community. Which is of course ridiculous, since muggleborns are blacklisted in the wizarding community. There are no good jobs for muggleborns in the UK, they're all reserved for purebloods," snarled Barchoke.

The Grangers were all bug-eyed at that comment. All the danger, the insanity, the _Muggle _Tax, and she couldn't even get a job afterwards? This situation had long passed bizarre and was now approaching Kafka-esque.

"Now Politics is more subtle. The Ministry uses Hogwarts to condition acceptable attitudes and behavior into the underclasses. Hermione has already experienced this: bullying by purebloods and Slytherins, unfair punishments by Snape. Even the punishments for surviving an attack and requesting medical aid. In an isolated environment, without family support, repeated continuously over 7 years. This becomes a very effective means of brainwashing students into accepting 2nd class status and supporting a tyranical government." Barchoke continued. "The conditioning is very powerful. In the past century, Mr Potter is the only student who balked and fled. And dragged Miss Hermione with him as a act of friendship."

Hermione looked up with wide eyes. Harry got free, and he dragged her out of that asylum because of friendship. Hermione knew she could never have escaped on her own. She would have gone on making excuses for the uncaring and incompetent staff and continued writing her useless essays in pursuit of praise and acceptance by the very teachers that were stealing her money and altering her mind. Harry was right, they _were _evil bastards. She leaned over to hug her mother.

Dan's face was very red now and scowling. He needed to center himself before he said or did something that a short greedy Klingon might not forgive.

"Barchoke, my apologies, but may we take a few moments. Currently, I want to borrow one of those lovely halberds from the doorkeepers out front and hack some deserving wizards into small pieces."

Barchoke laughed. Well, it actually sounded more like a growling rumbling snarl, but it might have been a laugh. "I understand completely, Mr Granger. I often entertain similar thoughts myself. And on very rare occasions with bankrupt wizards who have defaulted on their loans, I get to indulge those thoughts." Barchoke's face broke into a hideous sneer of bloodthirsty hatred. It would have been absolutely terrifying had the Grangers not wanted to join him.

Taking long deep breaths, Dan and his family were able to calm themselves and find their happy place. Of course, now their happy place was a goblin conference room, a lovely halberd, and a bankrupt wizard who was in default.

Dan remembered Hermione's lecture about Goblin culture - how she stressed that goblins hated wasting time. Dan realised he now needed to make a proper apology.

"Thank you, Barchoke. The Granger family apologizes for wasting your valuable time."

This simple action endeared Daniel and the Granger family so much to Barchoke that he might have even forgiven their default of a loan. Maybe. But the goblin did acknowledge to himself that Harry Potter did pick worthy friends.

Dan took a deep cleansing breath and continued as if nothing had occurred.

"I don't know if you can answer this, Barchoke, but how much of the Hogwarts education is actually useful?" Dan wanted to know.

"Ah, the same question Mr Potter asked. The answer is, it depends. If you want to live entirely within the wizarding community, with no access to modern technology or public services, then OWL level Charms and Transfiguration, though you could learn it in 2 years if you skipped all the unneccesary theory and essays. If you want to make your own medicines and such, OWL level Potions and Herbology. Though as your daughter can tell you, Potions and Herbology instruction at Hogwarts is completely worthless."

Dan and Emma looked towards Hermione and raised an eyebrow. "Hermione?" Dan asked. Hermione nodded.

"Potions is worthless: Snape hates to teach. Herbology is just deadly man-eating plants: Sprout likes to show off. History is worthless: Binns blames all the problems of the world on evil Goblins and stupid muggles. Defense is worthless: every year it's a different incompetent teacher. This year's incompetent teacher stutters so badly I've only managed to copy 1 page of lecture notes in 4 months. It took Quirrel 2 weeks to come up with the sentence: _dark magic is bad, so run away from it_."

Dan and Emma looked shocked, and couldn't believe how bad the situation truly was.

"That's if your daughter wants to live exclusively in the wizarding community. If she wants to live in the muggle community, then she doesn't need to build her own house, light her own room, conjure her own water, heat her own bath, or banish her own human wastes. In that case, she only really needs selected topics in Charms and Transfigurations up to OWL level, she could learn that in a year. Skip Defense, as it's really just wizard combat and dealing with dangerous magical creatures. Just buy a gun. There's a shop in France that sells specialised bullets: silver for werewolves, lead for vampires, iron for wizards. A yearly fumigation service handles doxy, boggart and pixie infestations. That just leaves Potions. Most witches just buy them ready-made in the Alley. So unless she's uniquely gifted in the field, I'd pass," Barchoke explained.

Hermione had a question, but Harry had explained the Goblin prohibition against children interrupting their elders. She turned to Barchoke and touched her mouth, in a request to speak.

"Oh ho! Mr Potter did teach you well! I just _have _to tell the other managers, they'll never believe me. Yes, please go ahead, Miss Hermione." Barchoke said, overjoyed at a human child exhibiting proper respect and decorum towards their elders.

"Thank you for hearing my youthful words, Master Barchoke," Hermione said, trying to remember the exact formula Harry said to use when speaking to elders. "I am wondering about Runes and Arithmancy, for warding and spellcrafting."

"Wonderful, Miss Hermione! Just for that, you get a 15% discount. Ha! Just 3 days ago Mr Draco Malfoy cost his parents an additional 37% in fees for his rudeness. By the Blessed Zoud!"

Harry had definitely told Hermione about that! A child hearing a sacred name meant an act of supplication. Hermione pressed her middle finger to her forehead and bowed her head in respect.

"20% discount! Astounding! And Mr Potter has certainly earned a 15% blanket discount on this year's services for his excellent teaching of children's etiquette.

"Well, to answer your question, Miss Hermione, warding is the one branch of magic that's truly useful in a muggle environment. Truly complex wards are best left to professionals, and we have a whole warding department to handle your warding needs. However, simple household wards like anti-fire, anti-pest, anti-theft, serenity, space-expansion are all things that a layperson like yourself might cast with a bit of training. Basic wards require a year each of runes and arithmancy, though to be honest if you have a good understanding of algebra and simple calculus you should be OK. After that, you need another year just on warding. So figure 2 years.

"Now spellcrafting on the other hand. Hmm. Most every muggle-born I've ever met asks about spellcrafting. It seems muggle society really encourages invention and innovation, unlike the wizards. To do it properly, you need Mastery level training in runes and arithmancy. That's 5 years. Usually I try to discourage that. It's a difficult path and few really have the knack for it. Though with the way you've picked up on Goblin culture, you might have the ability. I will say that there is very little money to be made from it in Britain, as the Ministry actively discourages innovation in magic as being anti-tradition. In the US and Japan, however, that could be a real career path for you, assuming you trained in either of those countries at post-OWL levels.

"But whatever you do, do not dabble in spellcrafting! It's rather like dabbling in nuclear engineering. Get proper training before you even attempt your first spell. We lose 4 or 5 witches per decade due to some spellcrafting disaster or other. Lily Potter was just one of the brilliant but poorly educated amateurs who got herself killed thinking she knew enough to get by. If this is something you truly want to pursue, and you score an Outstanding on the ICW Runes and Arithmancy OWLs, come back and we'll set up either a foreign enrollment or a foreign corporate apprenticeship.

"I mean it young lady, Mr Potter was very clear about you thinking that academic restrictions don't apply to you! His mother thought the same and she was dead at 23. Being the smartest witch in your class doesn't mean you can survive picking up plutonium in your bare hands, or creating an unstable time vortex, or isolating death energies from the killing curse! Do you understand me, Miss Hermione?"

Hermione was shocked. Harry was worried about her, and conveyed that worry to Barchoke. Hermione had actually thought to do a bit of side research in the field, just some light reading. But that was before the very stern warning and hearing about Lily. McGonagall used to compare her to Lily all the time. A small part of her wondered if fatal spellcrafting accidents wasn't a convenient way for the Ministry to kill off overly smart mudbloods.

Harry had told her what to do if she ever angered a senior goblin. And Barchoke was her only unbiased wizarding advisor; she certainly wasn't going to offend him if she could help it. She stood up, walked around Barchoke's desk and knelt before the goblin, beat her chest three times in symbolic grief, bent over and touched her head to the floor and said, "I understand you, Master Barchoke. Please accept my youthful apology and assurance that my pride will never outshine my learning."

"Will you curb your arrogance and restrict your future behavior, and only experiment within the context of proper training and supervision in the field of spellcrafting?"

"Yes, Master Barchoke."

"Very well, Miss Hermione. You may rise and return to your seat. I trust you understand why I acted as I have?"

"Yes, Master Barchoke. This was a test. You were measuring my arrogance. You wanted to see if I would prostrate myself and accept a rebuke with humility. You wanted to see if I could accept my limitations and work within guidelines set by others more learned than me. And honestly, it _was _a challenge. I am proud and I am arrogant, and I have a burning desire to do what no one has done before. But so did Lily, and she was the greatest witch of her generation. Her arrogance got her killed just as surely as my arrogance would have gotten me killed. Harry asked you to do this. He's a very caring boy when he wants to be."

"Yes he is. And he told me you would figure it out, too, though I didn't believe him. He wanted you out of Hogwarts, but he refused to tempt you to an early grave. We agreed that had you failed that test, I would not offer you training in Runes or Arithmancy. I still worry about you, Miss Hermione. It is often said that great witches burn the brightest, and the greatest witches burn up completely."

"I won't disappoint you, Barchoke. And I won't disappoint him."

The next hour was spent going over Hermione's options. Did she want to live in the wizarding world, or live with the muggles? Did she want to live a largely muggle life, or embrace her magic where it could actually benefit or add to her muggle lifestyle? Did she want to attend a magic school, engage a tutor, or try to pursue a short-term apprenticeship? Did she want to study in the UK, or abroad?

Through it all, she tried to puzzle out what choices Harry himself had chosen. When she got a little too focused on Harry's choices, she ended up on her knees again with her head touching the floor. Barchoke had to forcefully remind her that Harry was Harry and Hermione was Hermione. They each had their own paths to walk, with their own strengths and weaknesses. In addition, Harry had vast expectations heaped on him and even vaster political scheming at the Ministry and even the ICW levels. Rich, famous and underage was not a good combination, and until he was either 17 or a guild Journeyman he was at the mercy of any government that could assert jurisdiction over him.

All of which meant that when they met again, _he_ would be the one to find _her_, and not the other way around. And that he would be suitably disguised to avoid detection, even if he was suitably disguised as a she. She remembered him at King's Cross, hugging her and saying goodbye and she didn't even realise it. God, she felt like such a complete dunce for having missed it. And now, Harry was no doubt globe trotting from trainer to trainer, under unbreakable glamours. So there really was no good reason to restrict herself to the UK or even Europe in her desire to learn from the best and brightest.

The first thing they decided was that Hermione would enroll at a super-exclusive prep school run by the goblins. _Super-exclusive_ as in she was the only actual student enrolled. The school would set up 1 year student exchanges with foreign universities and trainers throughout the world, affording her the opportunity to learn various languages and cultures as well as take a _goblin-approved curriculum_, which in her case meant only classes relevant to her talents and career-path.

That meant maths, science and history, and not philosophy, literature and psychology. Because she was like a child in a candy shop, and if somebody didn't choose courses for her she'd be taking every Intro Humanities course offered, as well as any inter-disciplinary course or seminar. There just weren't enough hours in the day to take everything she wanted, even with magic. She should know, since she asked about magical methods of compressing time to take more courses, and found herself back on her knees and head on the floor for the third time as she once again came face to face with another of her less appealing qualities.

With 3 university courses (college algebra, biology, and world history) as her muggle classes, she was free to schedule her magical tutoring in Charms, Transfiguration and Runes. This first term was to be was her proof of concept, whether she could handle limited university courses and magical tutoring while living with one of her tutors.

It had the additional benefit of getting her out of the UK and hopefully away from certain lunatic magical faculty. If she was at a muggle university studying math and science, hopefully any long bearded lunatics would believe that she didn't know or care where Harry Potter was hiding. After all, if he didn't bother inviting her along, he couldn't have been all that good a friend anyway.

Hermione finally finished up her planning session with Barchoke, and everyone was pleased with the choices made. She looked back over the past hour, and realised that her relationship with Barchoke was vastly different from her relationship with McGonagall. Though Hermione had clearly tried to emulate McGonagall, the Scottish professor was remote and formal; she never once tried to help her student adjust to magic, better socialise with her peers, or correct her glaring personality issues. It was as though McGonagall was happy that Hermione had personality issues and poor people skills - perhaps the better to isolate and control her later on.

Her relationship with Barchoke was very much one of a learned elder dragging a spoiled but beloved little girl kicking and screaming into a mature and realistic lifestyle. Her parents never forced her to do anything, or to give up anything, or to conform to any model of anything. Though she knew without a doubt that her parents loved her, it also appeared that they very much spared the rod, perhaps not understanding how to apply the rod, or even that a personality like Hermione's screamed out for concrete boundaries enforced by a rod. Anything less and she would careen from interest to interest, spreading herself too thin and never bringing her laser-like intellect into hyper-focus.

Barchoke, and perhaps Harry as well, understood her intense need for structure and discipline, and dealt it out in ever increasing amounts. And Hermione found herself wanting to do something she had never ever done before. Until now she'd always come to a teacher looking for praise and validation - she'd done that all her life. But it was never really about the teacher; they were interchangeable. It was always about the praise.

Now she understood the difference between a teacher's shallow dispensing of meaningless praise, and a teacher's deep concern and love for a lost student seeking a rudder and a direction. After all the times she had come to teacher after teacher holding her homework and looking for answers but receiving only an adult's condescending smile and a gold star, someone finally looked at _her _and not the homework, and saw what was needed and was willing to help her fix herself.

Harry had taught her the posture a student shows for a life changing and deeply respected mentor. Hermione had scoffed at that, it seemed so beholden and so submissive. Plus Hermione was very uncomfortable with the close attachment it implied, since she had never kept a relationship with a teacher for longer than the year they were in class together.

But completely unbidden, Hermione felt tears falling down her face as she fell into the scorpion-like pose of deep and abiding respect for the beloved mentor who could see past her brain and just see her. And she held that awkward and painful pose for several minutes until Barchoke walked up to her and pulled her out of the pose himself, patted her on the arm, and walked her to her parents who clearly wanted to understand but didn't.

No words were spoken between the spoiled but beloved little girl and her respected mentor. Between the two of them none were needed, and between she and her parents none were enough.


End file.
